


Friends Like These

by iwillrunforever



Category: DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crime, F/M, Insanity, Kidnapping, Set during season 4, Slow Burn, Threatening, Violence, could be considered underage relationship, everything is fine, jerome will not die, mental health, of course jerome's alive, underage-drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillrunforever/pseuds/iwillrunforever
Summary: To Harleen Quinzel, Gotham City is home. Having left at 12 she is finally returning, now 16 and changed. She has developed a passion for psychology and an addiction to danger. Taking risks and befriending criminals, she never expected to meet Jerome Valeska on a school trip. There is instantly a connection between them, and this leads to more danger than she could ever hope to handle.[Set at the same time as season 4 but will definitely deviate from the plot][This is a relationship/interactions between a 16 year old and a 22 year old that is definitely unhealthy that I would not recommend. It is purely fictional and an exaggeration.]





	1. Prologue

Gotham City. Rife with crime, poverty and homeless, it is not considered a safe place for anyone but those willing to kill for their own protection. However, many rich business people make their wealth here, benefitting from the plight of others. My mother is the CEO of Arthur Ammunitions, a weapons and ammunition company started by her grandfather. At 22 she was employed as a sales consultant, working her way up through the company. Her work is why we stayed in Gotham after I was born, despite the rising crime in the city. She benefited from this crime, selling weapons to mob bosses and kingpins, in an attempt to provide protection for her family. Due to this, I grew up in a life of privilege and luxury, anything I wanted available to me whenever I wanted. When I was 4, my sister Wren was born but this still did not deter my mother from staying in Gotham. However, when I was 12 crime spiked and we came under threat. My parents could not protect me at all hours of the day, and I ended up alone and face to face with a dangerous criminal. This was the last straw. We moved to New York, my mother running the company from our new home, but I hated it. Without the near constant threat of danger, my life felt almost empty. No longer was there that rush of adrenaline when I was out on the streets after dark, when I climbed up to the roof at night. Of course, safety is nice, but living in Gotham for your life makes anywhere else seem drab and boring.

But now I'm home. Work called my mother back to our home, and the rest of the family followed. We returned to the same house, and as soon as we arrived I felt that danger that I craved. From the sirens and gunshots at night to the hairs standing up on the back of my neck on my walk home, it was everything that I needed, the rush of adrenaline that made me feel alive. At 16 I am now a representative of the family company and am expected to be respectable and uphold the family name. But this will not stop me from seeking that thrill, that rush. It will simply make me more careful, and make the rush all the more worth it.


	2. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having only been in Gotham for a few days, Harleen meets Bruce Wayne, not knowing the impact he will have on her life.

The rain tapping on my window comforts me. It is the epitome of Gotham City: grim, grey, and unwanted, yet at the same time rejuvenating, life-giving. Not enough of it, and plants and people alike shrivel up and die; too much and we are overwhelmed by its power. I love it.  Sitting in front of my mirror I gaze at my reflection as I finish braiding my hair. My fingers move quickly and easily, and I soon finish the intricate braid with a hair tie. I turn my head from left to right, checking that the two braids are even. They are. Standing up and running my hands down my dress I give myself a final check before leaving. My parents are meeting Bruce Wayne over dinner for a business discussion, and they insisted that I join them. Bruce is only slightly younger than me, and yet he has more independence than I ever will. Not that I envy being an orphan. At least not all the time. I slip on my black heels and grab my purse, turning off my bedroom light as I hurry out of my room.  
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stop in the hall. I can hear my parents fighting in the study. They’re always fighting about something: work, school, money, me. They don’t realise that I can tell they’re having problems; around me and Wren they act as though they are the perfect couple. They still see me as the child I was when we left, unable to understand what the world is truly like. But I understand perfectly. The world is chaos, filled with people clawing to be at the top of the pack just so that they don’t suffer like those at the bottom of the pile, but inevitably forgetting those living the lives they tried so hard to escape. An endless cycle of birth, life, suffering, and death. All we can do is fight the endless tide of danger and despair, or you can give in to the flood and go with the flow. That is how you get enjoyment out of life. Eventually becoming exasperated by my parents' argument, I knock twice on the door, wait for a second, and then knock again. Rolling my eyes, I turn around and walk back to the bottom of the stairs, allowing them to compose themselves.

My father drives us to the restaurant. An awkward silence surrounds us, the tension between my parents weighing down heavily. In an attempt to escape I gaze out of the rain-streaked window at the city streets I've missed. The orange glow of street lights illuminates the people hurrying through the rain, highlighting the blackness of the alleys. I can only imagine what must be down there: thieves, killers, drug addicts and countless other dangers. In New York, I was never allowed to leave the house without a chaperone, even if I was just going to the shop half a block away, but that didn't stop me. I was fourteen when I first snuck out into the dead of night. At first, I kept to the fire escape, simply watching the world go by, but after a few months the excitement had worn off. I hadn’t even come close to being caught, so I went a step further. I would climb down into the garden and walk around, listening to the city move around me. The novelty quickly wore off. So I left. Opened the gate and walked out. I came alive. I wandered the city, exploring a whole new world that had been kept from me for years. It was exhilarating, invigorating, everything that I had never felt in my life. And I was hooked. It was like a drug. I needed more and more just to live, so I took bigger and bigger risks. Shoplifting, breaking into cars, it slowly built. And then my mother received a call, our bags were packed, and we were returning home.  
I am jolted out of my memories as the car stops. I open my door and step out onto the sidewalk, ducking my head, trying to shelter from the rain as I wait for my parents. They quickly join me and we quickly make the short walk to the restaurant. Once we are inside I lift my head and gently shake the rain from my hair. The restaurant is impressive, yet somehow also intimate. The walls are hidden by red velvet curtains, and the expansive room is softly lit by small chandeliers lining the ceiling. It’s beautiful. We are guided to our table by a waitress, and I see who I presume is Bruce Wayne sitting next to an older man. As we approach they both stand.  
“Mrs Quinzel,” He greets, extending a hand. “I am Bruce Wayne, and this is my butler, Alfred Pennyworth.” The older man nods in acknowledgement.  "A pleasure to meet you, Bruce," My mother takes his hand and shakes it firmly, a warm smile on her face. "This is my husband Trevor, and my daughter Harleen.” He shakes my father’s hand, then mine. His grip is strong but still gentle. I give a small smile, and sit down at the circular table. We order drinks and food, and he and my parents begin to talk. I zone out their words and examine Bruce. He seems honest enough, but there is an anger deep inside. He clearly cares about the wellbeing of his company, and of his parents' legacy. He cares enough to take over as much of the running of the company as he can despite his young age. He is handsome, with dark hair and eyes and fair skin that could likely make any girl swoon if he wanted them to. I hope he isn't aware of his looks. When boys his age realise they're attractive, it goes to their heads and makes them cocky. And he is not in a position to be cocky.  "So, you are still attending school, Bruce?" My father asks, drawing my attention.  
“Yes,” Bruce replies, his confidence wavering slightly, “I feel that education is vital to success in life, and I do not want to take what I have for granted.”  
“Where do you go?”  
“Gotham Academy.” Oh, joy. "Well, that's lucky! Harleen will be starting classes their next week, once we’re settled in.” I groan internally at my mother’s enthusiasm and glare down at my food.  
“Really?” Bruce enquires, and I nod. “I could show you around if you like.”  
I give a small smile and nod, “That sounds great.” My voice gives away my insincerity, but Bruce either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. That boy is to well-meaning for his own good.

The rest of dinner was boring. The conversation quickly moved on from school and I was once again left to listen to business. I sit in bed, running a brush through my hair and thinking about school with Bruce Wayne, boy billionaire. I hadn’t thought about it until my father mentioned it, but the school will be full of the children of rich parents with their own businesses and super successful careers: children like me. But not like me. These people will be spoiled, entitled idiots who have no idea what life outside their bubble of privilege is like. They’ll want to talk about clothes and makeup and celebrities, and ignore anything that actually matters. This is going to be torture. I throw my hairbrush across the room, not caring where it lands. I lay down, my head cushioned by a mountain of pillows, and gaze out of my window. There is a full moon tonight. I smile to myself, finally at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try and upload at least once a week, but I am currently very busy as I have exams and other stuff on. Feel free to comment and suggest ideas, everything is greatly appreciated :)


	3. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only the first day of school and Harleen is already making her mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I promise Jerome will appear soon!

I look around the school grounds, feeling like a cat at the dog park. Every uniform rule is followed and not a hair is out of place. I watch a girl walk past and examine what she is wearing, comparing it to me. Knee-length pleated skirt, fitted blazer with the school badge emblazoned on the chest, and shiny black shoes with no hint of a heel. I, on the other hand, am wearing fishnet tights, a form-fitting skirt that comes to my mid-thigh, and a leather jacket. Shaking off my discomfort, I stride forward, chin up and hair loose behind me, oozing confidence. I can’t tell if people are staring, but something tells me that they probably are. That doesn’t matter. I’d rather not have to wait for the rumours to start, the new girl that some people must recognise, but can’t quite place. I wonder what they’ll say. If I’ll be a rebel, expelled from my last school and ready to beat my record for detentions, or a criminal, excused from my crimes because of my parents’ influence; or maybe something else. Who knows?

Dumping my lunch into my otherwise empty locker, I close the door with a thud. Looking up and down the row of clean, unmarked lockers, I cringe at the lack of personality. This school seems to have drained the life from every pupil within its walls, leaving only soulless clones. I will not let that happen to me. I begin to walk away from my locker, wanting to make an early attempt at finding my first class, when I hear a voice calling my name. There is only one person at the school that knows who I am, and I groan internally, preparing myself for what is to come. I turn, and see Bruce Wayne heading straight towards me.   
“Hey Bruce,” I greet, not even trying to appear happy at his presence.   
“Have you got your timetable yet?”  
“Yeah, I’ve got Math with Miss Kenneth first.”  
“Oh, I’ve got English,” He sounds disappointed, “But I can show you to your class if you like?”  
“Okay,” I could find it on my own, but I should at least try not to be a complete bitch. He heads off in the opposite direction I was planning on going, and I trail behind, dangling my bag off of one shoulder. He turns a corner and I hurry to catch up, finding him waiting for me when I do. We walk up a flight of stairs, a slightly awkward silence surrounding us. Feeling guilty, I make an attempt at conversation, “So, what’s Miss Kenneth like?”  
“Alright, I guess. She can be strict, but if you follow the rules you should be fine.” He looks at me and I raise my eyebrows, glancing down towards my uniform that breaks almost every rule and restriction in the book. He grins in response, “You might have a bit of trouble with her.”  
“I can deal with a stuck-up teacher, as long as she can actually teach. It’s the ones that can’t that are the problem.” He nods, I assume in agreement, as we walk down the corridor. “Thank you for helping me. I know I was a bit…”  
“Standoffish?” He offers, and I grin and nod, “It’s okay. I guessed you were probably nervous, or uncomfortable.”  
“Yeah,” It’s a good enough excuse as any, and I would rather he didn’t hate me. He stops outside of a door just as the bell rings.   
“This is you,” I peer into the class, noting the bare walls and the teacher’s tidy desk. I sigh.  
“Thanks again,” I say as I turn back to Bruce, but he has already disappeared in the flood of pupils moving to their classes. I hover outside the door waiting for the teacher, not wanting to risk sitting at someone else’s seat. By the time the class is mostly full, the teacher has arrived. I step forward and introduce myself, and after giving me a textbook she directs me to a seat at the back corner of the class next to the window. I sit down, taking out a folder, a pad of paper and a pen, and lean back in my chair. There is no one next to me, so I can spread my stuff out all over the desk. As Miss Kenneth begins her lesson, I stare out of the window at the clouds rolling past.

The bell rings for lunch. I scoop my books into my bag and leave English in a hurry. Not that I don’t enjoy the subject, but “The Great Gatsby” is just so depressing. These people born into money that can only sit around and complain about the emptiness of their lives, when people are actually suffering. However, I decide that it is surprisingly accurate as I look at the people around me. They just don’t realise how lucky they are. They haven’t seen the truth of the world, the endless suffering that beats against people simply because of how they were born. I can’t say much, having been born into the exact same situation as “the lucky ones”, but at least I try to remember those that are less fortunate. If it weren’t for those at the bottom, we couldn’t be at the top. I dump my books and pull my food out of my locker. Slamming it shut, I head outside to find an empty bench. Not that I don’t appreciate certain people’s attempts at friendship, but I need some alone time. Finding a bench in a secluded corner under a tree, I sit and start eating. I wonder how Wren is doing. She isn’t nearly as confident as I am, having been constantly protected and sheltered by our parents. I hope she’s made a friend, or at least not made any enemies. I hope that I haven’t made any either. Glancing up, I see a group of girls staring at me and whispering to each other. I can only imagine what they’re saying. I make eye contact with one of them, a tan girl with glossy brown hair, and she turns away quickly. The others follow suit. I smirk to myself, and return to my food. I seem to have already gained a reputation.

Final class of the day: Psychology. I never got to take this in New York so everything I know is self-taught; I’m glad I’ll finally get taught by a teacher rather than by the library. My notepad is out, pencil at the ready. Mr Wilkinson stands from his desk and writes on the board “CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY”, then turns towards the class.  
“So, who can tell me something about criminal psychology?” A few hands go up, but I don’t bother. He chooses someone seemingly at random.  
“Criminal psychology is the study of the wills, thoughts and motives of criminals.”  
“Correct. Who else?” Again, he chooses someone.  
“It first became established during the Second World War when a psychiatrist was employed to profile Hitler.” This goes on for a while, until he begins actually teaching. He summarises everything that was volunteered and goes on to further explain what this section of the course will entail. There’s not much to learn at this point, but it is still interesting. At the end of the class, while everyone is packing up, Mr Wilkinson calls for everyone’s attention.   
“Before you all leave; our class has been invited to go on a small trip to Arkham Asylum as part of the Criminal Psychology unit.” I look up, intrigued by the chance to actually meet the kind of people we will be studying. “If you are interested in participating, please collect a letter on your way out. You will need your parents’ permission, and I will warn you that it will likely be a stressful trip. It is focused on your education, not your enjoyment, and you may hear, see or experience things that make you uncomfortable or upset.” The bell rings, and I make my way to the front of the class to collect a letter.

I slam my bedroom door shut and throw my bag onto my bed, soon following it. Cushioned by blankets, pillows and my duvet, I let myself relax. New things are always stressful, and today was full of new things: school, classes, students, teachers. But it’s over now. At least for a day. Rolling onto my back I pull my tie off and toss it onto my bedside table; my shirt goes into my laundry basket. I dig about in my drawers until I find an old knitted pullover. I put it on, revelling in the soft comfort of it. I fall back onto my bed and curl up. I wonder what Bruce is doing just now. Probably homework, like the good studious boy he is. I don’t know why he comes to mind now. Maybe he’s starting to grow on me. He is endearing, in his own awkward way. He’s quietly confident, and somehow quietly nervous as well. Maybe I should talk to him properly tomorrow. Suddenly, I remember the letter, and the trip. Reaching over, I pull it out of my bag crumpled, but still intact. Finding a pen, I forge my mother’s signature; I don’t know if they would let me go, but I don’t want to risk it. This is what I want to do with my life. I want to try and figure out what makes people tick, and it’s far more challenging when those people are criminals; far more challenging and far more rewarding. I just find it fascinating, how people can be so different despite being made from the same raw materials. The difficulty in distinguishing what is happening inside a person’s head, why they do what they do. Is it nature or nurture? There are arguments for both. I want to be the person to find the truth, or at least part of it. But it’s not just about the minds. I want to help people, people who have been forsaken by society and treated as dirt. So many people who commit violent acts do it not out of choice, but out of necessity; out of fear, danger, desperation. It’s not fair that because of bad luck or someone else’s actions they should be punished or feared. I want to change that.

 


	4. French Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harleen's relationship with Bruce blossoms, but a surprise entrance may threaten the friendship between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late and it's so short, I've just had a lot on recently. Thanks for reading :)

Far too early on a Saturday morning, I am woken up by the shrill ring of the telephone. I groan and roll over to bury my face into my pillows. Raising my head slightly, I peer at the clock sitting on my bedside table. Quarter to eight. Considering I didn’t go to bed until three o’clock, this is absolutely horrible. I hear the phone being answered and allow myself to relax. It’s probably a work call for my mother. Just as I am about to drift off back to sleep, I hear a sharp knocking at my door. I guess it’s not for my mother. Dragging myself out of bed I check that I am decent, then I open the door and poke my head out. It’s my father.   
“Bruce Wayne is on the phone for you, darling.” He gives a tired smile and returns to his room. I grab a jumper and walk to the phone, taking a breath before I pick it up.  
“Hey Bruce, what’s up?”  
“Hi. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to mine tonight?” Confused, I begin to ask why when he continues, “I heard that you were taking French, and I was wondering if you wanted to do some studying together?”   
“Sure,” French is one of those subjects that needs practical revision, and Bruce is better than nothing, “What time?”  
“Seven? Alfred can come and pick you up if you like…” I stop him there.  
“It’s fine. I’ll make my own way there. What’s the address?”

Wayne Manor is imposing to say the least. I thought our house was large, but this is massive. It is quite excessive for just Bruce and his butler. The night is clear, the moon lighting my way up the drive. The gravel crunches under my feet as I walk towards the front door. Ringing the door bell, I shift the bag sitting heavily on my shoulders. Despite everything, I am nervous. Alone with Bruce Wayne, in his house, studying French. Who knows what will happen?

We sit either side of a coffee table next to a roaring fire. French textbooks, notes and dictionaries are spread across the table, and I focus on Bruce’s speech in my hands.   
“Again.” He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, before starting again. This time he manages to get halfway through until he messes up. I refuse to be sympathetic, stopping him short. “Look, let’s take a break. Get something to drink and then we’ll come back to it later.”  
“Okay,” He stands and stretches. “Do you want anything?”  
“Just some water, thanks.” He leaves, and I lean back into the plush couch. The fire wraps me in warmth, allowing me to relax. Until I hear the window open, and soft, quiet footsteps entering the room. I sit up and stare at the girl in front of me.  
“Who the hell are you?” The intruder asks, and I gape in shock.  
“That’s good coming from you!” I stand up, taking a slightly defensive stance against her aggressive one.   
“I’m friends with Bruce.” She seems to relax slightly, but I can tell she is ready to pounce at any moment.  
“So that’s why you’re coming in through the window?” I question, “Because you’re such good friends?”   
“The butler doesn’t exactly approve of me,” She shrugs. “I’m Selina.”   
“Harleen. I go to school with Bruce.” I begin to let my guard down, knowing that Bruce will be back soon.   
“What sort of a name is Harleen?” She scoffs.  
“What sort of a name is Selina?” I bite back. I hear the door open and we both turn towards it. Bruce enters with two glasses of water and a plate of cookies. His eyes widen at the two of us standing there, and he stutters to explain. “Your friend, Bruce?”  
“Y-Yeah,” He manages to get out, and I turn back to face her. “Selina Kyle, Harleen Quinzel. Harleen, Selina.” We nod at each other.  
“I guess my name is a bit more… unique.” I admit. She grins.  
“I can agree with that.”

I do not realise how late it is until the clock above the fire chimes eleven. We have been sitting, talking and eating for hours, French revision abandoned on the table. Selina and Bruce have been telling me about all of their “adventures” since they met. It seems that since Bruce’s parents died his life has been full of danger; kidnapping, attacks, threats and plenty of near-death experiences. It all sounds so exciting and is completely different from the stories I expected from Bruce. Looking at the clock on the wall, then down at my watch, I stand up. I suddenly realise that I am near exhausted.   
“I should probably go,” I say as I stretch my stiff limbs. “Thanks for all the help revising Bruce.” I smirk at him, and he smiles back.  
“Alfred will give you a lift, if you like.”   
“It’s fine, I can make my own way home.” I begin packing away my books and notes.  
“It’s after eleven, Harleen.” I can tell he is about to insist on Alfred taking me home when Selina interrupts.   
“I’ll walk with you.” She stands up to join me. “Protect you from all the big bad men.” We grin at each other, and Bruce sighs.  
“Okay, just call me when you get home.” He tells me, and I nod. I turn to Selina.  
“So, out the window?”

Selina and I walk in comfortable silence down the streets of Gotham. Despite only knowing each other for a few hours I can already feel some kind of friendship forming, or at least trust. A siren goes off in the distance and Selina glances towards me. I assume she was expecting some kind of reaction. But I’m used to being out late at night, used to the sound of sirens or fighting, used to the danger. I guess she must be too. I look at her from the corner of my eye, then ask:  
“So, how long have you been on the streets?” I attempt to gauge her reaction, but her face remains like stone. “Sorry, I just-“  
“Since I was a kid.” She responds. “What about you?”  
“W-What?” I’m surprised by the question. She must have known from the moment we met that I’m an upper class kid like Bruce.  
“You’re clearly used to being out at night. You haven’t jumped or even flinched the whole walk. So, how long have you been sneaking out to the streets?”  
“14, I guess.”  
“Do you enjoy your little sight-seeing trips?” She sounds angry. “Enjoy getting to play the criminal but knowing you have a home to go to at the end of the night? Knowing that if you’re tired, or sick, you can just stay in bed?”  
“Selina,” I stop walking and turn to look at her. She stops as well but refuses to look at me. “I am not trying to pretend I’m like you. I get that I’m lucky, that I have a home to go to. I get that I will never understand your life. But I need a way to escape, and doing ... what I do is the only way I can.” It’s most of the truth, but she would never understand my addiction to the danger. So I don’t tell her.  
“Okay,” she’s still angry, but at least she’s not close to killing me anymore. “But don’t forget what you have. Don’t forget what you could be giving up.”  
“I know.” We keep walking.


	5. Arkham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the trip arrives, but nothing ever goes quite to plan in Arkham Asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I hope you'll like this chapter! :)

The sound of sirens is comforting, familiar. Despite this, despite being back in Gotham, I am not happy. This is not my home anymore. This is the home of a child, a girl who knew nothing of the world. I am not her. She never knew what people could do. How they could lie, how they could hurt. She found out eventually. It was inevitable I guess. Living in Gotham, no one’s innocence lasts for long. Sometimes I wish that I’d stayed that sweet young girl with stars in her eyes. But that’s in the past. What’s done is done, and I am who I am. All that I can do is move forward.  
The tiles of the roof scratch at my hands as I stretch back. My family are asleep in the house, so I am out here. Watching the world go by. After what Selina said I cannot bring myself to go out into the city. I can’t indulge myself. It feels childish, almost selfish now. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am flaunting my status, my security. I guess I am. But not to hurt anyone. It’s for me, and no one else. She doesn’t understand, doesn’t realise, and I’m not about to try and explain it to her.  
From where I’m sitting I can see Arkham. It stands dark and tall, seeming to emit a strange green glow. I can only imagine the people in there, psychopaths, murderers, cannibals. I remember reading about the breakout a few years ago. It was all over the news, even in New York. Five high profile criminals escaping and wreaking havoc all over the city. If only something like that would happen now; it would be great fun.

*

The seat of the school bus rumbles beneath me. The journey is anything but smooth, the bus seeming to hit every pothole in the road. There are only ten of us on the bus, plus the teacher and the driver. With all the concerned parents and fearful students, I’m shocked that there’s that many of us. Most parents didn’t want to risk their children going to Arkham for some strange reason. Maybe it was the cost, or the dangerous roads. Or maybe the dangerous psychotic criminals we would be meeting. Yeah, probably that. We were given a uniform outline, even stricter than the normal one; so I am wearing a knee-length skirt and a cardigan over my shirt. Considering the people we are going to meet, I don’t mind. I would rather not end up the target of some psychopath. I glance around at the others on the bus. Everyone seems nervous, even the teacher, but I am strangely calm. It’s a secure, controlled environment. We’ll all be fine. Besides, I doubt the staff will allow us within fifty feet of anyone remotely dangerous. Arkham has had enough bad press as it is; they don’t want any students being horribly traumatised on a school trip. As we drive through the gate the building looms over us ominously, like a beast just waiting for us to enter. We take a breath as one, and slowly begin to leave the bus.

*

The screaming can be heard as soon as we arrive. It’s awful. Full of pain, anguish, despair. Anger. Even I am apprehensive as we wait silently at the reception. The girl standing next to me is shifting on her feet. She’s nervous. We all are. Now we’re here, the reality has fully hit us. Arkham is a prison, full of fear and danger. Of monsters and murderers.  
Mr Wilkinson gathers us together, and a women dressed in a simple suit stands in front of us.  
“Welcome, everyone, to Arkham Asylum. I hope you understand the serious nature of this visit. This is not an “enjoyable” experience. Rather, you are here to learn and enhance your learning to potentially go forward into a career in Psychology. I am Doctor Thomas, one of the therapists here, and I will be taking you on your tour of the Asylum today.”  
She turns around and, gesturing for us to follow, walks through a door and down a corridor. We move as one. The corridors twist and turn, and we walk up a flight of stairs until we stop outside of a door marked ‘Common Room’. Doctor Thomas turns around and clasps her hands in front of her. “In a moment we will walk past the inmates’ common area. This is where they spend time day to day when not in their cells or doing chores. Here, you will have your first encounter with the criminally insane. This is not something to take lightheartedly. Do not make eye contact or communicate with the prisoners. We will observe for a minute, and then move on. Do you all understand?” We nod and murmur agreement. This is it. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. When we step through that door, everything will change. I wonder if I’ll recognise any of the people in there. I hear the shrill sound of the buzzer indicating the door is unlocked, and we step through into another world.

The prisoners wait only a second after we enter before they begin jeering and shouting at us. We are separated from them by a metal fence, but it feels as though they could pounce on us at any moment. Despite the doctor’s instructions I peer at the fence and the people beyond it out of the corner of my eye. There are only a few women, the room dominated by deranged men who glare at us as if they would tear us apart with one chance. My hands automatically clench into fists, a defense mechanism from late nights and dark alleyways. I’m not afraid, not quite, but I am uncomfortable. I don’t want to let them think I'm scared, so I stand up straight, jaw clenched, and attempt to give off an air of fearlessness. The girl next to me is shaking slightly. Usually I would scoff at her, but instead I gently rest a hand on her arm in an attempt to comfort her. I can understand why you would be afraid just now. The doctor is watching us, gauging our reactions. I hope I have surprised her.

*

After the common room we are taken to an interview room, and we have the opportunity to ask Doctor Thomas any questions about the asylum, the patients, and the treatments. The questions are fairly typical: How long have you worked here, what’s difficult about it, is it ever scary? And the doctor’s answers are exactly as I expected: Since it reopened, working with people that don’t always cooperate, yes but the guards are well trained. While the others ask their questions I deliberate. Should I stay quiet, or should I shock her? I eventually conclude that I have nothing to lose, and I raise my hand.  
“Yes?” Doctor Thomas points at me, and I try not to smile.  
“Do you ever feel sympathetic towards the patients?” Her eyes widen and she opens and closes her mouth a couple of time, grasping for words.  
“Well, to a certain extent but… Well, they are criminals, despite their mental health issues.”  
“But surely you have to consider that they have not chosen to be the way they are?” I respond, not giving her the time to move on.  
“Yes, of course we do.” And on she goes. I can tell she doesn’t have a good answer for me, and I smile smugly to myself.

*

 We are supposed to be returning to the reception, following the doctor through the staff corridors, when a guard jogs up to us.  
“I’m sorry Doctor, but we’ve had an issue with some of the inmates. The corridor has been closed off further down.” The doctor nods.  
“Do you need any assistance?”  
“I think that could help, if you were there they might feel less threatened.”  
“Of course. If you could take the group to reception through cell block F, I will go and help out.” She smiles and bids us goodbye then swiftly turns around and walks away from us. We follow the guard in the opposite direction.

We are walking past rows of cells, voices bleeding from behind the solid doors. The guard walks in front of us and we hurry behind. No one wants to stay here longer than we have to. Suddenly we hear shouting from ahead, and the guard stops.  
“Wait here,” he tells us, and before we can protest he continues. “It’s perfectly safe, just don’t talk to anyone.” He then jogs away, leaving us alone. We are silent for a minute until a voice whispers from my left.  
“Hey kids.”  
I tense and stay still, watching the others to see if any of them react. When no one looks around, I assume I’m just hearing things.  
“Rude.” I definitely heard something, and the boy in front of me takes a sharps breath in. Someone is talking to us. I turn my head slowly, trying to find the source of the noise. Almost directly to my left the grate in a door is open, light pouring out. We all look at each other, wondering if anyone will dare answer. Realising no one else will do anything, I take a small step forward.  
“What do you want?” The group takes a breath in as one as we wait for an answer.  
“Just a bit of fun,” The voice responds, and I can tell it’s a man. Part of me recognises it, but I don’t know where from. “Not often we get outsiders here, and no one ever talks to us.”  
“Won’t be for long,” I say. I can’t see him, but I’m intrigued. “We’re going soon.”  
“I doubt it. The guards will probably forget about you and leave you here with us crazies.” He lets out a rasping laugh, and I begin to suspect.  
“Very funny.” Part of me wants the guard to come back, just to give me an excuse to leave. But a different part wants to keep talking. Suddenly a face appears at the window, and I take a sharp breath. Jerome Valeska. His face is scarred, the skin pulled back tight, but it’s clearly him. I remember reading about him, everything he did after killing his mother.  
“Aw, you scared?” He grins, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide.  
“No, just wasn’t expecting you to be quite so deformed.” I snap back, not wanting him to see me as a victim.  
“I'm hurt!” He feigns being upset and I roll my eyes. All at once he narrows his eyes and leans forward, getting as close to me as he can. “Hey, do I know you?”  
“No,” there’s a tremor in my voice, and I’m not sure whether it’s from fear or anticipation. “We’ve never met.”  
“I guess not,” He moves back slightly, and I relax slightly. “I’m sure I would remember a face like yours.”  
I hear footsteps and move away from the door as the guard approaches. I give one last glance to Jerome, who grins and whispers something just to me before disappearing into his cell. I can feel the eyes of the group on me, but I ignore them and instead follow the guard as he leads us to the reception, and to freedom.

*

Slamming the front door shut, I lock it behind me before heading upstairs. I take off my cardigan and perch on the bench next to my window, looking out into the garden. Seeing Jerome at Arkham has shaken me. I wasn't prepared for it, for him to speak to us. I can't believe I talked to him like I did. I know Arkham's secure, but in the back of my mind I wonder what would happen if he escaped again. Who he would go for. Bruce probably, he seems obsessed with him. But what he whispered is sticking with me, and I can't stop thinking about it and what it could mean. 

"See you later doll."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to comment and leave suggestions or constructive criticism (or just plain old criticism)


	6. Blood and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night results in injuries and pain, and old memories best forgotten are remembered.

“Shit!”  
I yelp as I hit the rough ground, scraping my hands and knees. I can’t stop, so I force myself to stand up and keep running. I can hear the men shouting behind me as I run through the twisting alleyways. I know I can’t outrun them, but I hope I can lose them in the maze of streets. I glance behind me, and in that moment I ruin straight into Selina Kyle.  
“Whoa!” She grabs my arms, steadying me on my feet. “Harleen? What are you doing?”  
“Can’t talk, bye!” I attempt to run round her, but her grip on my arms tighten.  
“What’s happening?” She looks over my shoulder and her eyes widen. I glance behind me and see the men that were chasing me. They look even angrier than before. “Get behind me.”  
“Selina-“  
“Just get behind me and stay back, okay?!” I nod and step past her, putting her between myself and the group of men slowly approaching. They’re all taller than six-foot, and built like brick walls. I don’t know what Selina’s going to do but I hope for both our sakes it works.  
“Aw look, the kid’s protecting her little friend,” One of them jeers, and I watch Selina out of the corner of my eye.  
“Look, leave us alone and you won’t get hurt,” She warns. I see her hand edge towards her belt.  
“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” The guy at the front takes a step and all hell breaks loose. A whip appears in Selina’s hand seemingly out of nowhere, and the first of the group is thrown onto the ground. The rest run at Selina, who moves faster than I could possibly imagine. She tosses one guy into two others, knocking them all into the wall. When the other two reach her she kicks one hard in the chest and wraps her whip around the neck of the other, pulling him towards her before elbowing him in the face and letting him drop to the ground. The first guy tries to grab her from behind, but she ducks under his arms and hooks her leg around his pulling him down. I watch her with wide eyes as she somehow manages to take down all six of them in the space of less than two minutes. Once she’s done she turns around, moving towards me.  
“Thanks.”  
“What happened?” She asks and I look away, embarrassed.  
“I was just out and one of them whistled at me, so I…”  
“I thought you weren’t going to do this anymore!” She almost yells at me. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”  
“I know but,” I struggle to find the words to explain. The need to escape my home, my life, to forget about everything. After Arkham I need to justify my paranoia, my fear. The only way I can do that is on the streets. “Look, I don’t feel safe at home and-“  
“Oh, because late night Gotham is so much better?”  
“At least my fear’s justified when I’m out here,” I tell here. She just looks at me, then takes my hands and turns them over. I wince at the sight. They are bloody and covered in dirt and gravel. My knees are probably the same, and I begin to feel the sting and burn of the cuts.  
“Come on,” she says walking past me, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

*

I’m sitting in Selina’s apartment. It’s dark and messy, but it’s better than nothing and could be a whole lot worse. Selina is hunting for a first aid kit while I sit and wait. I’m glad I ran into her – quite literally. She’s right, I could have gotten seriously hurt, or worse. I can’t believe what she managed to do. I knew that she was smart and tough, but watching her fight like that -  it was unbelievable. I wonder who taught her. The sting of my hands has dulled to a deep ache. Selina walks into the room, bandages, antiseptic and cotton in her hands. She walks over and sits next to me. I offer her my hands, and she takes one. Slowly and carefully she begins to clean the cuts and scrapes, then wraps my hand up with a bandage. She moves onto the other hand, and then my knees. By the time she’s done I can see the faint glow of dawn through the windows.  
“Thank you-“  
“Don’t worry about it.” She stands up and walks over to one of the windows, peering out past the ragged curtain.  
“No, seriously.” I stand behind her, but still keeping my distance. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened.” She looks at me over her shoulder.  
“You better go. Don’t want your parents to wake up and find you missing.” I nod and move towards the door. Before I can reach it someone opens it from the other side. A tall woman with dark hair dressed all in black walks in and stops at the sight of me. I freeze.  
“Selina?” She asks, never taking her eyes off me. “Who’s this?”  
“A friend,” She replies, and I blink in astonishment. I didn’t expect that. “She got in a bit of trouble. She’s leaving.”  
“Your friend got a name?” She takes a step towards me, but I refuse to back down.  
“Harleen,” I tell her, and she smirks down at me. “I was just leaving.”  
“Tabitha,” She offers a hand, and I shake it. “I’ll see you later.” I nod and walk past her out of the door.

*

I managed to climb through my window just as my mother’s alarm went off. I scramble into bed, pulling the covers over me so that only my head is visible. I turn away from the door and close my eyes, feigning sleep. I hear the door open quietly and my mother pokes her head in. I try to keep my breathing slow and even, and once she closes the door I let out a sigh of relief. Sliding out of bed I change from my skirt into cotton shorts and a pullover, leaving my top on underneath. It’s a Saturday morning so I simply climb back into bed and close my eyes, hoping for at least a couple hours of sleep. After turning a few times, trying to find a comfortable position, I slowly begin to drift off.

*

_I can hear laughing and music. Bright lights flash all around me. I can smell hot food, and animals, and sweat. I’m surrounded by people, all pushing and shoving, hurrying to nowhere. I’m being spun around. I can’t tell where I am. I twist and turn, trying to escape. I burst out from the crowd and fall over my own feet, landing on my hands and knees. The ground underneath is dusty and covered in straw. Looking up I see that I am in a brightly lit circus tent. The seats are empty, and the roar of the crowd outside is dulled to a murmur. Standing up, I brush off my dress. I shiver, both from the cold and the eeriness of the empty tent. I walk forward into the centre of the tent and turn in a circle looking for a way out. The place I fell from is a solid curtain. I guess I’m not going back that way. I hear whispering from behind me and spin around, looking for the person. No one is there. I notice an opening in the wall of the tent, with light shining through it. I can feel a presence standing behind me and I run forward, not caring where I end up. Anywhere is better than here. Pushing through the heavy curtains, I look around. The hall of mirrors. I take a few steps forward and look at my reflection. I’m younger, maybe thirteen. Blonde curls fall down my back past my waist. My dress is pink and made of a light, floaty fabric. It almost reaches my knees. Wrapping my arms around myself I turn around and begin to look for the way out. The curtains I came through have disappeared, so the only way is forward. I walk slowly, keeping one hand on the mirrors next to me so I don’t get lost. Every turn, every corner just leads deeper into the maze, but I know that if I keep going I have to get out eventually. The longer I spend here, the closer the presence from the tent gets. It almost feels as though it’s pressing up against my back. My breathing is shaky. I’m terrified. I hear a crack and the mirror next to me explodes into a million shards. I scream and fall to the ground, trying to cover my face. The glass cuts into my skin but I don’t feel it. Looking up the mirror is gone, replaced by a solid black wall. I stand up, my feet crunching on the broken glass covering the ground. Stepping backwards I feel myself press against another mirror. I stop and breathe, my whole body shaking._  
_“Why so scared?” A voice whispers in my ear. I run. I don’t even think about trying to find the exit, just wanting to get away from whoever is following me. I can feel footsteps behind me, walking but still keeping pace with me. I glance over my shoulder and see a flash of ginger hair in a mirror. No. He can’t be here. “Why are you running?” He calls, and I push myself to run faster. I can’t let him catch me. “You know you can’t escape me.” Turning a corner I see the exit and I run through it. The cold night air hits me. It’s later, and the circus is almost empty. The door to the hall of mirrors slams shut behind me. I let out a sigh of relief, thinking I’m safe. Looking around I see a small caravan ahead of me. There’s nowhere else to go so I walk towards it. Something about it is familiar, but I can’t explain what. As I get closer I hear shouting coming from inside. The door slams open, banging against the wall of the caravan before swinging back. Jerome walks out, but he’s different. Younger, his hair neatly brushed and parted. His face whole. He’s wearing jeans, a checked shirt, and a dark blue sweater. Something pulls me towards him. I need to talk to him, to comfort him. I remember what his mother did to him, and I need to make it better. He walks around to the other side of the caravan and I follow. I find him sitting on a bench._  
 _“Are you okay?” I know he isn’t, but I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. He looks up at me, his eyes both sad and angry._  
 _“I think I should be asking you that,” he says, and I look down at my bloody arms and dress. I forgot about that._  
 _“I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt.” I sit down next to him cautiously._  
 _“What do you want?” He asks, and I shrug._  
 _“I just wanted to help, but-” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it._  
 _“Aren’t you freezing?” He interrupts, and a shiver runs through my body. The cold night air has sunk deep into my bones. I nod. “Here.” He takes off his pullover and hands it to me._  
 _“I can’t-”_  
 _“Take it.” He pushes it into my hands, smiling at me. I smile back and pull it over my head. I look down at myself, straightening it. But when I look up the sweet and hurt boy I was talking to had been replaced by a monster. The face I expected and recognised grinned back at me. I freeze, a look of horror upon my face. “Are you scared?” He asks, leaning forward until I can feel his breath on my face, “Scared of little old me? I thought you liked me for a moment there.” I run. My feet pound across the grass and dirt, mirroring the pounding of my heart. I’m running into blackness but anything is better than Jerome. Suddenly I feel hands wrap around my waist and spin me around. I scream._

*

I sit bolt upright in my bed, panting. I look down at the pullover, the same pullover he gave me all those years ago. Somebody grabs onto my shoulders and I scream again, fighting against the intruder.  
“Harleen!” I recognise the voice. Calming for a second, I see Bruce standing next to my bed. “Your dad let me in. What’s wrong?”  
“Jerome,” I tell him and his eyes widen.  
“Jerome Valeska?” I nod.  
“I met him at Arkham, but-” I look down at myself again, grabbing at the pullover and taking it off. “He gave me this, when we first met.”  
“You’ve met him before?” Bruce looks shocked and almost horrified.  
“When I was twelve. I got separated from my parents at the circus, and I was terrified. I ended up at his caravan, and when he came storming out he saw me. He helped me. A few weeks later we found out that he murdered his mother.” I look up at Bruce, staring right into his eyes. “That’s why we left Gotham.” Bruce just looks at me.  
“Did he recognise you?” He finally asks.  
“I think so, but I lied. I’m not sure if he believed me.” I wonder whether I should tell him what else Jerome said. I suppose Bruce is the only person I can honestly talk to just now. My family won’t believe me, and I wouldn’t be able to find Selina. “He told me something before I left, and… and I’m terrified.”  
“What did he say?” Bruce leans closer, resting his hand on mine.  
“He said he’d ‘See me later’. What if he breaks out?”  
“He won’t, Arkham’s secure now-”  
“That’s what they thought last time!” I know I’m being irrational, but I can’t help the voice in the back of my mind telling me that Jerome is coming.  
“If Jerome does escape, the GCPD will protect us. And we’ll protect each other.” Bruce wraps me in a hug, and for once I let myself be vulnerable and I hug him back.


	7. The Fight Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Harleen train together, but danger is closer than they realised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short, but I wanted to post something. thanks for reading, feel free to comment :)

Bruce’s fist comes flying towards my face. I manage to dodge under it at the last second and attempt to return the blow, aiming at his chest. He deflects it and aims a kick at my stomach. It knocks the air out of me, and I stumble backwards a few steps. The next punch Bruce throws at me I grab his arm, pulling it past my body. I hook one leg around his ankle, pulling him to the ground, but he grabs my arm pulling me down with him. I land next to him, hitting my elbow off of the ground.   
“Okay, I’m done,” I roll over onto my back, panting in exhaustion. He laughs next to me before standing up and offering me a hand, helping me stand up next to him. I walk over to the table at the side of the room and grab my bottle of water, taking a few deep mouthfuls. Bruce comes over and does the same. We are both dressed in workout clothes and practically dripping in sweat. Ever since he found out about Jerome we’ve been training together, working so we would be able to protect ourselves. Bruce has been training for years with Alfred so he beats me pretty much every time, but I’m slowly getting better. The cuts on my hands and knees have healed, but they were quickly replaced by more scrapes and bruises than I can count. The one on my elbow is just the most recent. I hear the door swing open and turn around to see Alfred walking in.   
“I thought the two of you might be wanting some lunch?” He asks, and I exchange a look with Bruce before nodding. “Right. I’ll get something sorted for you.” He gives a quick smile and leaves. I turn to Bruce and run a hand through my hair. It’s greasy and soaked with sweat.   
“Do you mind if I grab a quick shower?” Bruce nods.  
“Sure, let me show you.” He walks past me out of the room and I follow him. Up a flight of stairs and down a couple of corridors, we stop outside a luxurious bathroom. “There’s shampoo and stuff in there, and some spare clothes in the dresser.”  
“Thanks,” I smile and go into the bathroom, closing and locking the door as he walks away. I stretch one arm into the shower and turn it on, waiting for the water to reach the right temperature before taking off my clothes. I step into the shower and let the hot water pour over me. It soothes my aching muscles and calms me. In the weeks since Arkham I haven’t been able to relax. From fear, from anticipation. Jerome’s promise haunts me every time I close my eyes, and I wonder if he’ll keep it if he does escape. Bruce says we’ll be safe, but he has to know that Jerome will stop at nothing to get what he wants. I shake my head, spraying water around me. I can’t let a single sentence get to me. After washing my hair and body I turn off the water and get out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my body and grab another for my hair. After drying my hair until it is damp rather than soaking, I grab a t-shirt and leggings and get dressed. I leave my hair loose and tangled over one shoulder and leave to find lunch.

*

Bruce and I sit in one of the many lounges after lunch, each of us reclining on a couch with a book in our hands. I am studying for English while Bruce is researching whatever investigation he’s on now. The television is playing quietly in the background as we sit in comfortable silence. I turn the page, read the first few words, and sigh in boredom, closing the book and dropping it into my lap. I turn my attention to the television. The news is playing, a blonde man in a suit talking about the economic crisis. Fascinating. I lean back on the couch and close my eyes, trying to relax. The news moves on, and he begins talking about something ‘extremely dangerous’. I try to zone it out. Extreme danger is nothing new in Gotham, so I let myself relax. That is, I relax until I hear Bruce jump up from his seat.  
“Harleen!" He calls, and I open my eyes to glare at him. I stop when I see his face, and follow his finger to look at the television. A picture of Arkham Asylum is being shown, and the reporter is talking about a breakout. I sit up and pay attention, watching silently.   
“A number of criminals have escaped. The police have warned that all of these criminals are highly dangerous and should not be approached at any cost.” While he is talking a series of mugshots are shown, identifying the criminals. I recognise a few of the names, but none of the images until the last. When Jerome appears on the screen I jump up and grab Bruce’s arm. He escaped. I knew this would happen. He probably orchestrated the whole thing. I can feel myself shaking. I can hear Bruce talking but it’s just white noise. I let go of Bruce and leave the room. At first I’m walking but I speed up until I’m running out of the front door. 

*

I lay in bed thinking. The phone is ringing, and I’m sure it’s Bruce, but I can’t talk to him just now. Thoughts are flying around my head. What is he going to do? No matter what the whole city is in danger. He’s probably forgotten about me. We only talked for a couple of minutes, and I doubt he could see me properly. He just wanted to frighten me. At least that’s what I tell myself. He’s more likely to go for Bruce. But there’s still a voice in the back of my head telling me that any minute he could climb in through my window and kill me, or kidnap me, or worse. A shiver crawls up my spine as I imagine what he might do. I am afraid, but part of me almost wants him to find me. To come face to face with him again with nothing between us; just the idea is exhilarating. But the rational, logical part of me knows that if I meet Jerome again I likely will not survive.


	8. School's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome is out, Bruce is gone, and Harleen is still at school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i actually updated! it's a miracle! sorry for the eternity, i've been really busy with school and stuff and really struggling for ideas. enjoy!

Despite the criminals roaming the city and the fact that my life is in danger, I am at school. “Scary bad guys” wouldn’t cut it with my parents, and there’s no way I’m going to tell them about Arkham. So here I am, sitting in a closed off corner of the library attempting to finish my homework for the next class. But I can’t concentrate. Every sound makes me jump, every voice makes me look over my shoulder. I haven’t seen Bruce today. I guess Alfred let him stay at home. Even though past experience has proved that Wayne Manor is clearly no safer than anywhere else in Gotham. I go to copy a note from the textbook in front of me, and my pencil breaks. I groan in frustration, in anger, and throw my pencil to the side. Shoving my books into my bag I stand up, done with my homework. Mr Anders will get what I've done, and he can deal with that himself. I head out of the library and am walking down the stairs when I hear it. Shouting. Screaming. Gunshots. I turn around and run up the stairs instead of down. It could be any one of the countless criminals in Gotham but my heart is still racing. Of course being afraid is completely logical in this situation. I know that no matter who it is I should be afraid. Reaching the top of the school I look around the busy corridors, trying to figure out what's happening. Everyone's panicking, running in all directions. I try to push through, heading for the fire escape. If I can reach it then I can get to the back of the school in a minute and then I can escape through the side gates. But I am swept up in the crowd of panicked students. No one will let me past. I can hear more gunshots from downstairs, and they're getting closer. The corridor reaches a standstill, nowhere for us to go. I spin in a circle, looking desperately for a friendly face, but I am surrounded by strangers. Gunshots at the entry to the stairwell make everyone scream, and we all turn to see who has been hit. The victim is the ceiling. Standing at the doors is one of the escapees, a rifle pointed into the air. Everyone is silent.   
"Everyone! Downstairs now! Go to the cafeteria!" He yells.   
"Or what?" A voice from within the crowd shouts back, stupidly brave. A gunshot silences him. A couple of screams and yelps come from the people around his now dead body. I guess that's enough of a warning. We all start to move slowly towards the stairs. I keep my head down, not making eye contact with anyone. I don't want to be any more noticeable than I have to be. I clench my fists in an attempt to stop them from shaking. Fear is slowly taking over my body. Not knowing what is going to happen is killing me. Potentially literally.

*

The whole school, students and teachers alike, have been funnelled into the cafeteria. We're sitting at tables and on the floor, waiting for something. Or someone. I'm sitting against a wall staring at my hands, straining to hear anything the men are saying. All I can hear is something about "finding the boy" and "he'll be here soon". If it's the "he" I'm thinking of, then the "the boy" is Bruce. I scan the room, trying to catch any sight of Bruce, but I can't see him. Hopefully, he isn't here. But what that means for us, I don't know. I doubt they'll just let us go home without a scratch. They've already killed at least one student, probably more. The doors slam open, making me jump slightly. A sinister laugh enters, one we all recognise, and its owner soon follows. Jerome. I slide my back down the wall and lower my head so that my hair covers my face. I want to make myself as small and discreet as possible.   
"So, I'm going to cut to the chase," He's waving his gun around haphazardly. He steps up onto a table in the middle of the room before continuing. "I'm looking for Bruce Wayne. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Again Jerome? Why not give up?" Well, when I make a decision I follow through with that decision. It's a good code for life, wouldn't you agree?" He points his gun at a teacher, who rapidly nods in agreement. Jerome grins at him, his face full of darkness and danger.   
He leaps off of the table, surprisingly graceful, and begins to stroll around the room. He's looking for Bruce. He won't find him, I know that. But he doesn't. And he'll do what he wants and kill who he wants until he finds him. After circling the room Jerome stops near the doors where he began, across the room from where I am sitting. "I guess little Brucie must be hiding. Or maybe he's just not here. So I'll need to ask." He looks around him, at the frightened students avoiding eye contact. "You." He points, and one of his cronies steps forward, grabbing the arm of a freshman girl and dragging her towards Jerome. She whimpers as he slowly and deliberately raises his gun so it is pointing directly at her head. "Where. Is. Bruce. Wayne?" The girl shakes her head, close to tears. She doesn't know. No one can tell him. "I'll ask you, one more time," He takes a step closer, pressing the barrel of the gun against her head. She lets out a sob.  
"She doesn't know." Before I can process what's happening, I'm standing up. I'm an idiot. I'm going to get myself killed. But still, better me than her, right? Jerome turns his head and looks at me, his face slowly pulling into a grin. He pulls the gun away from the girl's head and gestures to the guy holding her, who throws her to the ground. Jerome takes a few steps towards me and gestures for me to come closer. I stay still.   
"Well look who it is? You know, I thought it was going to be harder to find you. Who would have thought you were going to come forward so willingly?"   
"Bruce isn't here," I ignore him, refusing to give in to his little game. "He isn't stupid enough to come into school."   
"Unlike you?"   
"Parents, what can you do?" I shrug, trying to contain a small smile. He lets out a cackle, throwing his whole body back in glee. My shoulders tense. The people around me flinch but I try and remain as unafraid as possible.   
"You're quite something aren't you?" He begins to stride towards me and I instinctively step backwards, my back pressing up against the wall. He comes closer until our chests are almost touching, and I can feel his breath on my face. I refuse to close my eyes or look away, staring straight at him. I can't tell what colour his eyes are. One second they're green, the next blue. I try and focus on the current threat to my life, rather than thinking about what colour Jerome's eyes are. Priorities, Harleen, priorities.   
"So..." He drags it out, almost certainly for the sole reason of making everyone in the room suffer. "What would you say if I asked you to call little old Bruce and get him to come out here, huh?"   
"I'd probably tell you to fuck off," I tell him unabashedly, and he cackles again.   
"You're a brave one, aren't you." All of a sudden the air turns cold and his grin sharpens into something more sinister. "And what would you say," He lifts up his gun and holds the barrel under my chin, pushing my head back as far as it will go, "If I told you I was going to shoot you if you didn't do what I wanted."   
Every cell in my body is burning, adrenaline running through my veins like a drug. The cold metal against my skin is the only thing I can focus on, that and Jerome's body pressed against mine. I know I should be terrified, but instead, I am filled with anticipation. I want to know what he would do if I said no. But I don't want him to know that. I glare at him as best I can with my head tipped back. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He grins impossibly wider and somehow leans in closer. "So, does that mean you'll help me?"   
"You'll just kill Bruce and then kill me," I spit back, trying to stall for time. "No matter what, I end up dead, so why not just cut out the middleman?"   
"No, no," he whispers, "The last thing I want to do is kill you. You don't need to worry about that." He removes the gun from under my chin, letting my head fall back down, and holds it just next to my head. "But, if you get in the way of me getting what I want, then some very unpleasant things will happen." I shudder, and he feels it. He lets out a sharp, harsh laugh, taking a step back. Finally, I can breathe. He goes to speak but is interrupted by sirens. Blue and red lights flash outside, flooding the room. Someone is speaking on a megaphone, but the blood rushing in my ears deafens me to the words being said. Before I can realise what's happening, someone's hand is wrapped around my arm and I am being dragged across the room. I can hear shouting, but my mind is blank. I am pulled through the door and along corridors, surrounded by Jerome's thugs. I don't struggle, I can't, so I just let myself run in whatever direction I am guided. I know I should fight, I know I shouldn't give in, but I want to go. I don't want to get hurt, I want to warn Bruce, but I want to see what will happen. We slam through a fire exit, setting off the alarm, but it just blends in with the noise encompassing the school. Down a back alley, hidden from the police, I am thrown into the back of a van. A blindfold is tied haphazardly around my eyes, my hands are bound, and the doors are slammed before we drive off, faster than I could have imagined. We turn a corner and I slide into someone. They grab onto my shoulders and laugh. Jerome leans in and whispers into my ear: "We're going to have so much fun."


End file.
